


i got nobody but my shadow to get me through

by amaryllises



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/F, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaryllises/pseuds/amaryllises
Summary: [major DRV3 spoilers]Yonaga Angie wakes up on a desk. And wakes up on a desk. And wakes up on a desk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you [hypophrenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypophrenia/pseuds/hypophrenia)
> 
> for helping me beta read

The surface feels hard and uncomfortable. 

 

However, she’s certain she’s felt it somewhere. She just can’t exactly recall, strangely. 

 

Nevertheless, she doesn’t move. Instead, she shuts her eyes tightly closed and ducks her head closer into her arms.

 

_ Do not open your eyes. _

 

She takes time using her hands to examine the surface. Smooth, yet some parts concave in certain, irregular areas. Not marble or stone; it’s much too… imperfect, she would say. Plus, she’s worked with marble before. Any well designed, elevated surface would be completely flat.

 

_ It is a desk. _

 

Angie shoots awake, blinking the sleep out of her weary eyes. She rubs it with her sleeve, made out of some kind of bright yellow material. Her vision clears.

 

“Yep, yep! Most interesting!” she decrees, glancing around the room. Quite large, with rows and rows of desks — exactly alike the one she had woken up from herself — a gigantic blackboard in the back. She almost smacks herself on the head: it’s a classroom! Duh!

 

But God would be much displeased with the situation: the classroom is completely covered in overgrown vines, intertwining through cables and chairs and — was that a locker? Angie tuts quietly to herself about the condition of the classroom, and goes to help God rip out some pesky plants that were obstructing his divine vision.

 

_ No, check the locker _ , He says.

 

And, so, Angie complies. She pays her respects for briefly defying His orders, and quickly rushes over to the vine-entangled locker. Praying quickly, she grabs the metal handle, and tugs on it.

 

It takes less strength than she had expected. As soon as she pulls it, entire exterior door yanks off fluidly, the hinges ripping cleanly off. Pleased, Angie places it nearby, and — finally — notices the person inside the locker for once.

 

Angie curiously looks at the boy, and, with sudden vigor, tries to get yank him out. Nevertheless, it fails, and Angie huffs. He’s unconscious, and she has no idea what to do! Maybe she could call for the teacher? Was there even a teacher here?

 

_ Wake him up _ , He says.

 

She attempts to argue back; the green haired boy looks ridiculously snug and comfortable, even when she rudely intruded upon his locker. Plus,  _ she _ wouldn’t like it if someone just shook her awake!

 

_ Wake him up _ , He repeats.

 

Angie obviously has to do as God says, so she quickly apologizes silently for ignoring his divine grace, by quickly clasping her hands in prayer. She falls to her knees, and recites an ancient prayer to Him. She quickly crawls back to her feet, and dusts her knees off, walking to Amami.

 

“Hello? Yoohoo!” she calls to him, as soon as she lifts herself up from the ground. When his eyelids only flitter, Angie grabs a hold of his shoulders, and shakes him, looking at him at eye-level. “Yoohoo!” she whispers.

 

The boy snaps awake, and nearly falls back into the locker. “Gah!” he exclaims, when his head bangs against the top of the locker. Angie sees the plethora of piercings against his cartilage. God must have given him the divine right to have so many! “Who are you?”

 

“Me?” Angie grabs a paint brush from her skirt, and taps it against her chin. “Why, Angie is Angie! Angie Yonaga! SHSL Artist, yep, yep, and, like, God's messenger!”

 

_ Indeed you are _ , He chides.

 

The other boy pries himself out of the interior of the ridiculously small locker. “Ah. Yonaga-san-”

 

“No! God says you must call Angie, Angie!” she smiles. “Yep, yep! Do tell, who are you?”

 

“Ah… Angie-san. I am Amami Rantarou. I think,” the green haired boy replies, glancing around wearily.

 

_ He is similar to you. _

 

“Surely, you must have an SHSL, right, right, Rantarou?” Angie asks, offering a hand to Amami. “After all, that is what God said!”

 

Amami simply rubs his forehead and stares ahead blankly, features contorting to an expression of confusion. “Angie-san… I do have one,” he says simply.

 

“Yes, yes! God tells you to tell Angie what it is!” Angie swings her paintbrush around.

 

“I don't remember what it is.” Amami scratches his head in confusion. 

 

“Are you saying God is a liar?” Angie inquires, stepping closer. “Angie knows God doesn't like liars. Angie hopes you know too.”

 

Amami takes a step back, raising both his arms in surrender. “I swear. By, er, God, that I don't know.”

 

_ He is not a liar, _ He answers.

 

“Simply divine!” Angie claps her hands together with earnest. “God is sorry that Angie suspected Rantarou! Would you like a blood sacrifice from Angie as an apology?” 

 

“I-” Amami is taken aback. “I'm fine. Thanks for your offer…?”

 

“Nyahaha! If you insist, Angie will not!” Her tone is bubbly.

 

“I suppose we should explore?” Amami inquires, looking around the classroom in confusion. “Angie-san, did you wake up here?”

 

“Yep, yep! Except Angie was on the desk! God told Angie to check the locker before she left, so Angie did!” Angie purses her lips, deep in thought. “Nyahaha!” she adds.

 

Amami accepts her offer. Not reluctantly, of course.

\-----

When Monokuma announces the killing game, Angie is not alarmed, because God told her not to be. Even when the bear added the small detail of a time limit.

 

“Do not fear, Himiko!” she calls, much to Chabashira’s distaste. “God will protect you, ‘cuz Angie said so!”

 

“God is such a pain,” Yumeno mumbles, looking down. 

 

Chabashira looks triumphant, and puffs out her chest. “Ha! Tenko thinks that Yumeno-san should come join the wonders of Neo-Aikido!”

 

“That's such a pain too,” Yumeno grumbles.

 

The other person remotely unalarmed is - not strangely - Amami, who grabs his chin, deep in thought. “Ah. So that's why we were gathered here,” he says, rather nonchalantly.

 

“H-how are you not alarmed?” Saihara says, pale and shaky, by Akamatsu’s side.

 

“Dunno.” Amami shrugs.

 

“Enough with your whining!” Monokuma cackles. “Forty-eight hours to kill each other, or everyone dies! Seems like an appropriate compromise, upupupu!”

 

_ Angie, you cannot think about something as trivial and useless as that. Your faith in me is the only thing that can save us all _ , He whispers into her ears, sultry and chiding.

 

“God says Angie and the others should not worry!” she relays, smile beaming on her face. “God will protect us!”

 

“God can’t help us now,” the little man (Hoshi, she recalls. He wasn't exactly fond of meeting with Angie and God) gruffly mutters.

\-----

“Hey!” Momota declares, as he rounds up Gokuhara, Harukawa, Yumeno, Chabashira, and Amami in the game room.

 

“Why are we here?” Harukawa quips sharply, sullen, and by herself in the corner of the room.

 

Angie wonders if she's hiding something, or simply sad by herself. Perhaps she should introduce Harukawa to the wonders of God, after convincing Yumeno to join. 

 

As for Yumeno: she was being pestered by Chabashira, who leered over her like a circling hawk ready to take her prey. Yapping about Neo-Aikido or whatever, and constantly offering to assist Yumeno with unconventional things.

 

Too bad the hawk never accounts for the snake slithering about on the ground, ready to snap up the mouse in one swipe.

 

Angie plasters a smile on her face, and keeps her distance from the two. “Yep, yep!” she agrees with Harukawa. “Like Maki, God would like to know why we are all here with Kaito! Angie would, too!”

 

“Well… hm…” Momota rubs his goatee in thought. “You guys look strong! Like you could fight!”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harukawa snaps with sudden ferocity. 

 

“Nothin’!” Momota takes a step back, a cheerful grin still on his face. “But we’ll battle the Exisals. Die with glory!”

 

“Not everyone looks like they could fight,” Amami muses, giving a side eyed glance towards Angie and Yumeno.

 

_ You will not die _ .

 

“But God says we will not die,” Angie interjects, a cheerfully bright smile on her face. “Is Kaito saying God is wrong?”

 

“Enough with your idiotic ‘God’ schtick.” Harukawa seethes with anger. “If He was so almighty and powerful, why won’t He just end the killing game?”

 

“God can only do so much!” Angie argues back. “He is almighty and divine, indeed, but would He interrupt on the course of natural events? Angie does not think so!”

 

“... Gonta will go to the AV room. To watch bug movies, to fill Gonta up with fight.” Gokuhara quickly excuses himself away from the fight, and ducks into the room.

 

“Typical menace to leave like a coward,” Chabashira mutters, and resumes her coaxing of Yumeno.

 

Saihara bursts into the room as soon as Harukawa tries to retaliate. “Ah… hello, Harukawa-san, Angie-san, Momota-kun, Amami-kun, Chabashira, and Yumeno-san,” he says awkwardly, and adjusts his hat. “Akamatsu-san and I were just wondering what you guys were doing…”

 

“Yep, yep! God says to tell Shuichi!” Angie beams.

 

_ Great! _ He says.

 

Amami interrupts to excuse himself to the bathroom. 

 

The music starts playing.

\-----

The deafening music is stopped, but something else far more pleasant replaces it. Angie takes a gulp of air, thankful God had ended the killing game. That’ll show Harukawa, who was by herself, examining the… dancing game by the corner? God would be most intrigued. Yumeno, in the middle of their conversation, looks up as well, intrigued by the static of the monitor.  

 

They hear the sound of someone (presumably Chabashira) screaming.

 

“God says that might not be good…” Angie trails off, interrupted by the bell ringing a simple tune:

 

_ ding dong bing bong _

 

_ That is not good _ , He says.

 

Angie's mouth dries when Monokuma cheerfully explains that a body had been found. Even Harukawa turns around in shock at the monitor, looking at that stupid, smiling bear.

 

“... Nyeh?” Yumeno whispers, clearly shocked by the situation. “But… that's a pain…”

 

_ Look _ , He commands.

 

Angie runs and throws open the game room doors. Thank God the library is conveniently located right next to the room. Harukawa and Yumeno stare ahead, almost frozen. 

 

“God says Angie and the others shall go see!” Angie smiles, her anger barely concealed by honey dripping down her words. How  _ dare _ Monokuma go against God's will, and force a killing game to happen? How  _ dare _ he trap the divine messenger of the island’s omnipotent God?

 

Harukawa and Yumeno snap out of their trance and start sprinting, and so Angie does the same. Down the hallway until they greet the large wooden doors.

 

Angie does a quick prayer to Him before she slams open the door.

 

She hears the unmistakable click of a camera; there wasn't a lot on her native island, but tourists brought them to take pictures of their miraculous scenery.

 

To the back-right, she sees Momota, Chabashira, Akamatsu, and Saihara looking forlornly at the ground.

 

Angie sprints over. “God would like to know what-” 

 

She stops in her tracks.

 

Laying down on the ground, with blood dripping down his head, and a shot put ball - the telltale weapon — rolled off to the side, is Amami Rantarou.

 

Angie feels a sense of whooshing in her ear. Like God was zipping by, too worried and terrified to consult His divine messenger. 

 

It happens more often than when she first claimed the role of messenger; God's abandonment periods were only when the island faced another hurricane.

 

_ Do not worry,  _ He says serenely.

 

And, so, Angie plasters a bright smile on her face. “Oh my! What has happened?” she calls out.

\-----

God tells her not to worry. So Angie doesn't. 

 

Even when Akamatsu’s lifeless figure hangs limply from the spikes, like some kind of sacrificial lamb Angie had seen on her island, God tells Angie not to worry. When Saihara stares at her with tears streaming down his face as the platform slams down for a grand finale, splattering the piano with blood, Angie does not worry. 

 

Even when she sees Hoshi submerged in the tank full of piranhas that she haphazardly arranged for Yumeno. Even when the piranhas quickly nibble on his — already dead, Saihara had proved — corpse, leaving behind nothing except for the clang of the metal handcuffs as it reaches the bottom of the glass, and the water diluted a light red.

 

Even when she sees Toujou, sprinting her heart out, though futile, from Monokuma’s execution, like some sick, twisted game of cat and mouse (God says it’s just tag!), she doesn't mind it. Or when she falls down the rope with a sickening crack as her body slams down on hard concrete, Angie does not blink an eye. Because that is what God intended.

 

Still, it doesn’t empty the feeling of uncertainty from her stomach, something that God simply cannot take away. Angie prays and prays and cries and cries for Him to remove the remorse and regret that threatens to spill out of her words, as easily as honey drips out, but He never answers, instead, leaving her stranded on an island paradise (not her island, of course) by herself.

 

Angie has done everything God wanted. She even helped create the student council, as God needed worship and devotion to remain almighty. She has given up her body as a vessel to God, who guides her arm and paintbrush in a cacophony of beauty emphasized with every loving stroke.

 

So why can't she do what  _ she _ wants?

 

God says to retrieve the Necronomicon, but not to use it. 

 

_ It is for the safety of the others _ , He croons in her ear.

 

But  _ why _ can't she do what she wants? In her research lab, she stomps her feet angrily. No. No. She is the divine messenger, and she shall not be confined by prohibitions, unlike the others who were forbidden from going outside at night time. God granted her the divine right to serve and lead under Him, so why can't she do what  _ she _ wants every once in awhile?

 

She kneels and begs for His forgiveness as she lays out the Necronomicon.

 

Amami. That was who she was going to pick. Because he deserved to live, not because Angie found him in a locker.

 

Fortunately, God must take pride in her decision, allowing her to do as she must, as her lab is not broken into smithereens.

 

And He allows for her to be used as his loyal and perfect vessel. He carves out four life size replicas of Amami, Akamatsu, Hoshi, and Toujou out of wax with  _ her _ hand, with His lovingly used chisel.

 

After she's finished painting Hoshi with oil paints, God leaves briefly. Angie uses that time to clean her paintbrush, smeared black from carefully painting Hoshi’s leather jacket.

 

The water runs black down her arm, but Angie pays it no attention, taking the time to carefully rinse out the bristles. It turns from pure black to ivory white.

 

God comes back.  _ Get a candle _ , He instructs.

 

“Angie doesn't know where that is!” she huffs, crossing her arms. God had been waaay too annoying lately, with his strange requests.

 

_ In one of those empty rooms,  _ He tells her. 

 

Angie complies. She doesn’t bother to lock her lab door — she’ll be back quickly anyways, and she doubts anyone would go against God. 

 

The corridor her lab is snugly tucked into is scary and unfamiliar, with strange markings all over the wall. God tells her it’s of tattoos her island had held dear to them, but why would Monokuma of all people know what they looked like? They were private, and hidden well from commoner’s view; even from tourists who’d pry for information.  _ Why do we need to donate blood? Why do the plants bite me?  _ She nearly scoffs. Stupid skeptics.

 

“Oh, oh, which room should Angie go into?” she asks aloud, pressing a finger to her chin, almost in deep thought. 

 

_ The middle one?  _ God suggests.

 

With a ridiculously casual stroll, she quickly throws open the door.

 

Shinguuji’s there, hand poised over a saw. He’s cutting… the floorboards?

 

“Oh, hi, hi, Korekiyo!” Angie cheerfully says, as she walks to the candleholder nearest to the entrance. “My, my, what brings you here so late? God says you cannot go outside at night without being in the student council!”

 

“Hello, Yonaga-san.” Shinguuji stands up stiffly, and drops the saw he was holding, as if Angie couldn’t see it already. “What brings  _ you _ here, at such a peculiar time of the night?”

 

“Angie’s getting a candle!” she exclaims, as she turns her back to retrieve the candle. Her breathing quickens. Why did Shinguuji have a saw, why was he here in the middle of the night?

 

_ Get the candle _ , God urges.

 

_ Run,  _ Angie tells herself. But it’s futile. After all, God overrules everything.

 

With a shaky smile on her face, Angie says, “how are-”

 

She sees flashes of silver and red.

\-----

The surface feels hard and uncomfortable.

 

_ Do not open your- _

 

This time, Angie doesn’t even wait for God to answer her. She shoots up, her entire body ice-cold, yet sweat drips down her back. The crook of her neck feels like fire and shoots her with a blinding pain when she twists her neck in a stretch, and she’s not sure why.

 

_ She’s been here before _ , Angie thinks. 

 

For the very first time, she feels cold. And odd. Like she wants to scream, but the scream stays strangled in her throat, refusing to burst out, out of fear of the rest of her exploding into a thousand shattered pieces of porcelain. 

 

“Angie would like to know the meaning behind this…” Angie smiles, holding her hands behind her back. Despite the moderately warm climate of the classroom, her entire body feels like cold, like one of the sacrificial lambs she had held in her arms before it died. “Why would God tell Angie to not wake up, when she has already woken up before?”

 

_ It is a desk _ .

 

“Angie would like to know! Angie would like to know!” she chants, as she strolls over to Amami’s locker. Still as dirty and overgrown as when she arrived here… before? She can’t quite grasp the feeling; it slips through her fingers like a messy drop of excess paint thinner. 

 

_ No, check the locker _ , God says, as Angie forcefully throws open the locker. Inside lays Amami, who’s dead, a shot put ball a few inches away from his head.

 

Angie shakes her head. No; it’s Amami, alive and well, with his head dipped down, not bashed in the skull, or whatever remarkable place Saihara hypothesized. He snores gently and Angie almost feels guilty about waking him up. 

 

Almost.

 

Instead of grabbing him by the shoulders, as God wanted, she shakes his arm gently. “Yoohoo!” Angie calls out quietly, making sure not to interrupt his slumber too much; after all, in two days she’s certain he would be dead. “Yoohooo?”

 

She more or less results in yelling in his ear, and Amami falls backwards, stunned. “Gah!” he calls out, staring wide-eyed at Angie. “Who are you?”

 

“Me?” Angie winces slightly, and continues. “Angie is Yonaga Angie! Or Angie Yonaga! The SHSL Artist! Who could Ran” — she catches herself before she says his full name —  “who could you be?”

 

“Ah… Yonaga-san…” Amami says, almost hesitantly. 

 

_ Wake him up _ , He says, and Angie almost hisses at God in anger.

 

“No, no! God says to please call Angie, Angie!” she tries not to repeat her words from the first time as much. “Who could you be?”

 

“Ah… Angie-san… I'm Amami Rantarou. I think,” he enunciates slowly.

 

_ Wake him up,  _ God says again, more forcefully.

 

Angie smiles brightly, and cheerily asks for his talent, despite the hoarseness of her throat.

\-----

_ You will not _ -

 

“But Angie says we will not die,” Angie interjects, a cheerfully bright smile on her face. Her hypocrisy astounds even herself; it falls out of her mouth as easily as the lies she's told to Amami, despite God in the background. “Is Kaito saying Angie, the divine messenger of God, is wrong?”

 

“Enough with your idiotic ‘God’ schtick.” Harukawa seethes with anger, as per usual. “If He was so almighty and powerful, why won’t He just end the killing game?”

 

Angie starts to argue back, but stops briefly. Her duty  _ wasn't  _ to provoke the SHSL Assassin; rather, to go around her. Besides, she was the only one who knew about her talent, as of now. “Hmm… Angie guesses you are right,” she nods, despite every ounce of her body wanting to do the opposite.  “She will ask God about that… later! Yep, yep!”

 

“You—Oh?” Harukawa mumbles, and promptly silences herself. 

 

“... Gonta will go to the AV room. To watch bug movies, to fill Gonta up with fight.” Gokuhara quickly excuses himself away from the two quarreling, and ducks into the room.

 

“Typical menace to leave,” Chabashira mutters, and resumes her coaxing of Yumeno.

 

Saihara bursts into the room.. “Ah… hello, Harukawa-san, Angie-san, Momota-kun, Amami-kun, Chabashira, and Yumeno-san,” he says awkwardly, and adjusts his hat. “Akamatsu-san and I were just wondering what you guys were doing…”

 

The music that plays, that Angie’s so painfully familiar with. The room erupts in yells, people clamoring to hear over each other  _ and _ the music.

 

This time, Angie stays silent. If she had planned her timing correctly-

 

Amami interrupts to excuse himself to the bathroom.

 

“My, my! God has told me that He is hungry and would, like, totally go for some spaghetti!” Angie lies through her teeth, and promptly latches on to Amami. “Angie will go with Rantarou! Because it is convenient!”

 

_ Great!  _ He says. 

 

Angie grits her teeth, but keeps the same composure. Very awkwardly, she toys around with her hair; something she had never done before.

 

“... I’ll go,” Saihara offers, as soon as Momota had briefed him. He quickly shuts the game room door, mumbling a goodbye.

 

“Good riddance,” Harukawa remarks quietly.

 

“So, so! Can Angie go?” she tries to ask, as carefree as possible.

 

_ Please please please please please _ , Angie pleads.

 

“Ah… I suppose you can…” Amami fiddles with his hands. The last round, he had made a detour to the library, where Akamatsu had killed him. “But we have to be quick, Angie-san.”

 

“Why so? God says we can have all the time we wish! Nyahaha!” She turns her back towards the others, and waves. “Bye bye!”

\----

They walk in silence, or something near it, anyway.

 

Angie hums a ceremonial hymn while Amami stares ahead, hand hovered over his pocket protectively. Did he have a weapon on him? 

 

As soon as they’re out of earshot — or what could be considered earshot over the music, anyways —  Amami grabs her shoulders.

“Do you know anything?” he almost hisses, his calm demeanor almost immediately fading away. “Why are you here? Why are you following me?”

 

“A-Angie doesn’t know anything!” she cries, as Amami loosens his grip. She toys around with her sunshine-yellow sleeve, nervously dragging her hand over the raincoat material. “Angie swears!”

 

“Really? Angie-san, why do you seem to be everywhere I am?” Amami runs his hand through his hair, staring at Angie with suspicion she never thought he was capable of. 

 

“Because—because... “ Angie blabbers, and immediately says the first thing she thinks of. “Angie’s lo-lonely! Angie wants friends…and she assumed that Rantarou was a friend! B-because when they woke up together… Angie swears, by God!” she nervously backs away. She almost holds her hands in front of her protectively, a hair away from shielding her face.

 

“That seems to be fake,” Amami mumbles, begrudgingly going up the stairs. If she recalls correctly they’re late, directly influencing the future. What would Akamatsu do now, when her receiver doesn’t go off? “All your God business, like Harukawa-san said. Not—not the other thing”

 

“Why is Rantarou is so alarmed? Is there something important he will do? Is Angie getting in the way?” Angie attempts to provoke. Amami is calm and collected, as of now, but the more information she’d gain, the better. 

 

He clenches his jaw, and stares ahead with steely resolve. “Nope.” His hands leave its awkward position above his pant pocket, and grip into tight fists, swinging by his side.

 

Thankfully, the light is bright, obscuring any vision from the top of the stairs. 

 

Unfortunately:

 

A body lays at the top of the stairs, blood pooling around their head. Angie can see a shot put ball hastily thrown aside, coated in the very same blood. There’s a familiar black and white ballcap strewn nearby, which meant-

 

“Oh… my… God,” Amami mumbles, nearly tripping down the stairs. He backs away. “I'll—I'll go get the others. Stay put.”

 

But God — Amami’s God — wouldn't help him now. With the bloody streaks across the concrete and the shot put ball thrown in plain sight, Angie was sure it was deliberate.

 

Angie tries to scream, but like usual it stays strangled in her throat. She simply nods and goes to take Saihara’s pulse, gently gripping the limp wrist. There's no pulse, not even one jump-start of life.

 

Would Akamatsu try to kill Saihara, of all people, instead of Amami, if he weren't present? The signature shot put ball was used in her crime, but would she really attack Saihara, under the assumption that  _ he _ was the mastermind?

 

Angie falls to her knees and prays. She failed.

 

_ What are you doing? _ He hisses.

 

“I DUNNO WHAT THE FUCK YOU GATHERED US HERE FOR,” Angie can hear Momota yell, struggling to be heard over the sound. “AIN’T WE SUPPOSED TO BE KILLED BY NOW?”

 

“SHUT UP, MENACE! LET AMAMI-SAN SPEAK!” Chabashira yells over him. 

 

“HEY, HE’S A MENACE TOO!” Momota argues back, more stubbornly than to to admit that he should be quiet. 

 

“What a pain…” Yonaga can barely hear Yumeno’s quiet mumble over the commotion.

 

“Yumeno-san, Tenko is sorry!” Chabashira immediately bursts into apologies. Much more than should be required, Angie thinks. Chabashira continues to pester Yumeno for any needed accommodations, while Yumeno seems to brush it aside.

 

“Up there,” Amami says grimly, and gestures towards Angie, who’s still locked in her praying position. 

 

Chabashira charges ahead, confidently, with quick strides. “Tenko can’t-” She pauses abruptly as soon as she sees Saihara’s body, her eyes widening with surprise, eyeing Angie quietly praying right next to it.  

 

Chabashira screams, and the music stops.

 

Unfamiliar tears fall down Angie’s face, but she bites her lips to keep it from trembling, hands raised in a prayer as long as possible.

 

_ ding dong bing bong _

\-----

“First, let’s review alibis,” Akamatsu states, standing by her podium, her arms locked tightly at her side. She avoids looking in the general direction of Saihara’s podium, a portrait of his face and two crudely drawn magnifying glasses intersecting across it. At the very top of the taunting stand, his hat lays, surprisingly clean of any blood.

 

“I was in the dining room with Toujou-san, Iruma-san, and Shirogane-san,” Shinguuji replies smoothly. “However, Shirogane-san  _ did _ leave to go to the bathroom.”

 

“Take a load of this virgin!” Iruma erupts into laughter, and slams her hands down on the podium. “Plain Jane left to go to the bathroom to piss, but why do you care?”

 

“Because it seems to be of importance in the current conversation. I also have noticed she took a rather long time,” Shinguuji replies. Angie wonders if he were gritting his teeth behind his mask; she surely would have done so in that scenario.

 

“Shield your ears, Yumeno-san! The menace is a pervert!” Chabashira gives a side-eyed look of disgust towards Shinguuji.

 

Speaking of Shinguuji - he was the last person she saw, before she-

 

Oh.

 

She lets out an audible gasp. Akamatsu looks at her suspiciously.

 

“What's wrong?” Akamatsu inquires, still in the same awkward position as earlier.

 

“Nothing, nothing… God just wants you to hurry! You're getting in the way of His nap!” she babbles out on the spot. She grins and does a faux prayer, as if to sell out her part. “Nyahahaha!”

 

“... As we were saying,” Shirogane clarifies as soon as the room goes silent, “yes… I did go to the bathroom, but I was still in there when they found Saihara-kun’s body.”

 

“Whatever! I bet she snuck out in the middle of her piss and killed that cuck!” Iruma laughs.

 

“... Please do not refer to Saihara-kun as a cuck, Iruma-san,” Toujou says, calm resolve shrouding her vehemence. “It seems as if you are dishonoring his death.”

 

“So, so!” Angie chimes in. “God says Kirumi, Korekiyo, Tsumugi, Miu, Rantarou, Kaito, Tenko, Himiko, and Maki all have alibis… so Angie asks, who doesn’t?” She jerks her head towards Akamatsu’s direction subtly, and smiles.

 

“Hmm… Kiibo-kun, Hoshi-kun, Gonta-kun, Ouma-kun, and Akamatsu-san,” Amami places his thumb and forefinger at the base of his chin. “Care to explain what you were doing at the time?”

 

“Woah, hold up!” Ouma interjects. “Can robots even commit murder? Kiiboy’s too incompetent to do that!”

 

“I am perfectly capable of commiting murder!” Kiibo huffs, hands on his hip.

 

“Nishishi? Is that a confession?”

 

“Kiibo-kun, don’t listen to him,” Akamatsu glares at Ouma, and resumes. “I was waiting in the nearest classroom for Saihara-kun.”

 

“Gonta was watching bug movies in the AV room!” Gokuhara adds in.

 

“Doesn’t the AV room have an exit? Gokuhara could’ve easily sneaked out and killed Saihara,” Harukawa deduces. 

\-----

They’re gotten nowhere. They’re still nowhere. 

 

The most prominent argument as of currently was of the culprit being Ouma, as he had no plausible alibi. But no matter how easily he dodged around accusations, restated the murder from the very beginning. No matter how much he stated there no window of opportunity for him to murder Saihara, Angie’s classmates turn a blind eye. Especially because of their increasingly distraught leader, taking most of the impact of Saihara’s death.

 

She tries to speak about God, and how he informed them Ouma was correct.

 

“God can’t help us now,” the assassin scoffs, as she, almost gleefully, taps two times on her podium screen. 

 

“... It just seems illogical, Angie-san,” Amami shrugs.

 

When Monokuma declares the time limit, Angie’s eyes widen in fear.

 

The votes are thirteen to two. Thirteen to Ouma and two for Akamatsu, who stares at the second tally with a look that betrays her face.

 

“Upupu!” Monokuma laughs. “Let’s see if Ouma Kokichi, SHSL Supreme Leader, really is the blackened!”

 

The wheel moves achingly slowly, and right when it reaches the pixel render of Ouma, the entire wheel turns pitch black.

 

“Huh… huh?!” Akamatsu’s cries grow more frenzied and outraged, rather than afraid. “Wh—What does that mean?”

 

Five Exisals appear.

 

“Oh, I’ll show you!” Monokuma laughs.

\-----

Angie wakes up again in cold sweat.

 

Her head is pressed down on a desk.

 

She doesn’t move. Instead, she keeps her head down, stifling her tears, ignoring the way her abdomen burned, as if thousands of lead bullets were embedded in her body.

 

God babbles things, but Angie doesn’t listen. Instead, she opts to trace figures mindlessly on the desk with her index finger, imagining a large, barren room; where the walls and floors are a solid white, and dozens and dozens of paint cans litter the sides.

 

She doesn’t perk up when Amami falls out of the locker  _ himself _ . She can hear the tapping of his shoes as he leans towards her.

 

“Are you awake?” Amami asks, with carefully concealed speculation. Immediately, she feigns sleep, and makes her limbs go limp. Taking care not to accidentally do any strange, sudden movements, she tries to keep her same position.

 

“Hello?” Amami asks again. And again, Angie stays still.

 

“Miss, are you okay? I’ll go… I’ll go find a nurse, if you’d need one,” Amami offers. There’s awkward silence; Angie can hear Amami scratching his head. He chuckles absentmindedly. “Oh right, you’re asleep, and you can’t hear me. Anyways, I’ll go find the nurse or a teacher, and I’ll be right back.”

 

Angie estimates it’s about forty minutes later when Amami returns, not with a nurse, but with fourteen students and one Monokuma.

 

“See?” Amami sounds more relieved than indignant. “There  _ are _ sixteen students!”

 

“Ah, I wonder what her name is!” Akamatsu’s voice says cheerfully.

 

“Wake up, sleepypants!” Monokuma seethes, stomping towards the desk where Angie lays idle. “You gotta get introduced to… that!”

 

Angie merely stays silent in response.

 

“I have… very sharp claws,” Monokuma threatens. “Wake up! Wake up!” 

 

Again, Angie only closes her eyes, praying to whichever God she had left. Not the stupid, automated one.

 

“I’m gonna count to three…”

 

“Hey, ya sure she’s alright?” Momota yells, over the clamor.

 

“One…”

 

“I’m not sure… we better go check soon, but the bear’s there,” Akamatsu sighs.

 

“Two…”

 

“Perhaps after she wakes up?” Toujou suggests.

 

“Seems good!” Chabashira yells. “Make sure none of the menaces touch her, or else they’re gonna suffer the wrath of Tenko’s Neo-Aikido!”

 

Angie hears the familiar noise of the Exisals popping out of God-knows-where. She lifts her head, and sees a sliver of the scene unfolding: Monotaro’s Exisal facing her directly, lining up with her head.

 

“Three.”

 

Angie raises her head fully and is met with a barrage of bullets.

\-----

The surface feels hard and uncomfortable. 

 

However, she’s completely certain she’s felt it somewhere. She just can recall everything, every loop in motion to its exact detail, strangely. 

 

Yonaga Angie wakes up again.


	2. Chapter 2

The seventh time she wakes up, Angie doesn’t even bother.

 

She leaves without Amami, who she imagines is still peacefully slumbering in his locker.

 

She barely listens when Monokuma rambles — again — about his killing game. Or even when the Exisals arrive.

 

There’s a spark of outrage and the bickering of Momota and Harukawa, which she heard too many times. Instead of putting in her two cents, she stays quiet.

 

Ouma, being his usual annoying self, skips around and looks at her face. “Why do you not seem surprised, Angie-chan?” he asks slyly.

 

“Well,” she forces a bright, cheery smile on her face, “God told Angie.”

 

“Oh, did He?” No, He didn't; He's essentially reduced to the same, awful broken record that intrudes Angie's mind with unnecessary orders. “Seems rather convenient, Angie-chan.”

 

“Angie does not know what you mean,” she says quietly. “But God commands you to be quiet, for it is His divine right!”

 

“Of course! Anything for Angie- er, God-chan!”

 

Angie clenches her teeth and nods politely in turn. “God accepts your apology.”

 

Ouma simply smiles coyly and goes off to pester someone else.

\-----

Angie merely embraces Amami’s death. It’s too much work and effort to interfere. 

 

But before she does so, she pulls Amami aside during Momota’s meeting, for the seventh and final time. Except it’s different; she doesn’t try to persuade him or direct him elsewhere.

 

She simply says her amends. 

 

“Angie says God says that you are blessed!” she bubbles, forcing the same God-quality smile on her face.

 

“Huh? Angie-san?” Amami coughs, looking quite alarmed. “What do you mean?” 

 

Angie merely steps into her corner with Yumeno. Amami doesn’t press on forward.

\-----

She doesn’t even argue on behalf of Akamatsu, whose neck is drawn taut by a metal cuff. 

 

She’s a murderer, and that’s final. God — and Angie — doesn’t tolerate murderers, no matter how much people cry when they die. Or how separated their empire becomes.

 

Onto Hoshi. 

\-----

“Himiko!” she chortles, dragging her arm towards her. “Angie wants to go to the gym, and see what Kirumi’s doing!”

 

“Nyeh… but… that’s such a pain…” Yumeno groans, but doesn’t object to Angie sweeping her into the gym.

 

“Himiko, Himiko, God says we have to!” Angie fibs through the sliver of her teeth. “C’mon, c’mon!” 

 

“But Angie…” Yumeno sighs, shifting around. “It’s almost... night time.”

 

If she timed this correctly, and according to Saihara’s deductions, Toujou should be inside, preparing for the murder of Hoshi. 

 

“There is no night time for God!” Angie clicks her mouth, and wraps her arms around Yumeno. “Do it for God, yeah?” she asks sweetly.

 

Yumeno’s expression falters, and her face turns red. “I… I guess…”

 

“Great, great!” Angie grabs Yumeno’s hand, and strolls over casually to the gym. She takes a deep breath, and swings the door open.

 

Yumeno does an uncharacteristic gasp when she sees Toujou, the glass cover for the piranha tank in her hand. She stands on top of the ladder.

 

Toujou doesn’t notice her; Angie can see the sweat dripping from her forehead. 

 

“Nyeh… what’s Toujou doing?” Yumeno whispers.

 

Angie tightens her hold on Yumeno’s hand and says, “let’s go see Kirumi.” 

 

“But…” Yumeno implores hesitantly, “she seems busy. And… nyeh… I don’t want to interrupt her.”

 

“We’ll just talk to her and go!” Angie insists, standing her ground.

 

Thankfully, Yumeno is easily swayed. “I guess…” she trails off, and her eyes flicker downward. “If… if your God said so, I guess.”

 

“Yep, yep!” Angie exclaims, a bit too loudly. Toujou immediately stiffens and whips her head to turn to their direction, the piranha tank cover grasped tightly in her gloved hands.

 

She clears her throat. “Hello, Yonaga-san, Yumeno-san,” says Toujou emotionlessly, her eyes focused intently on the exit behind Angie. “What brings you two here at this hour?”

 

“Nyeh…” Yumeno holds Angie's hand even tighter.

 

“Nothing! God asked Angie to check the gym for Himiko’s awesome magic trick!” she drawls, her other hand stuffed in her pocket.

 

Her hand grazes over the metal thoroughly encapsulated and out of sight, courtesy of her vibrant yellow raincoat. The handle is smooth and small. She easily flexes her hand and grips the paring knife, acquired two days ago from the kitchen.

 

Just as a safety precaution, after all.

 

“Angie has to make sure it's perfect,” she adds.

 

“Feel free to do so.” Toujou hesitates, and her eyes flicker to the left, and back to Angie and Yumeno.

 

She gasps, “oh, my, my!” Angie removes her hand from Yumeno’s and emulates an expression of surprise —  wide, open eyes, and a hand over her mouth — as if she never expected Toujou. “Kirumi, why do you have the tank lid? God would like to know!” she chippers, strained to hide her anxious demeanor.

 

Toujou’s irises jab to the left again, and she takes a hasty gulp of air. “As instructed, I was doing my duty as a maid,” she reassures confidently, “such accommodating for your needs. In this case, for you, Yonaga-san. You are preparing for the magic show, are you not?”

 

“Angie isn't!” her subconscious corrects Toujou; almost as if on a whim, “but God wants to make sure it's perfect, just like Himiko and her tricks!”

 

“Angie…” Yumeno sputters. She looks down, her face a shade of red.

 

Toujou pays no heed to Yumeno’s sudden change of expression. “Please, proceed,” she says, a strained smile on her face. She scales down the ladder, and dusts her dress off. 

 

“Thank you!” Angie exclaims, and lets loose of Yumeno’s hand to trail her hand over the fish tank. Her examination focuses on the perimeter for any leaks or cracks. She pulls the curtain back, pretending to check if it completely covers the tank. 

 

And it does; nothing the SHSL Maid couldn’t accomplish. The seams are sewn perfectly, without any trace of fault.

 

Toujou trails behind her, as if monitoring her every move. Angie notices this when she turns around. “Kirumi!” she chirps, clapping her hands in an effort to express her faux enthusiasm, “Angie — and God — super love this!” she gushes, clapping her hands together. 

 

“Pleased to hear that,” Toujou says emotionlessly; possibly to veil her belligerence. The glass cover is still held in her hand. “Anything I can assist you with, Yonaga-san?” 

 

This situation Angie had brought herself into had definitely interfered with Toujou’s plan. She was certain she was planning something unpleasant.

 

Sweat pools near the back of Angie’s neck. Yumeno was still dawdling around in the corner of the room. Her heart pounds as she calls, “Himiko! God says to come over! Angie needs to check your hidden door!”

 

Yumeno looks displeased, but still walks over; completely unaware of the possible threat. “Nyeh… Angie, it's not a door… it's a portal I created. “ ‘Cuz I'm the SHSL Mage.”

 

“Of course Himiko is!” Angie smiles. She lets go of her paring knife in her coat pocket to gesture to the staircase. “Come, come!”

 

Her first thought as she and Yumeno open the secret hatch in the staircase is, “this isn't magic.” But that’s obvious, after all. Of course magic wasn’t real; it was as real as God is.

 

Her second thought is obliterated by the sound of breaking glass that turns her vision black and red, like an odd, bloody concoction.

 

It floats around with ease, like a hundred starved piranhas.

\-----

As soon as Angie wakes up again, she lets out a scream of frustration. It’s loud and her throat burns and she struggles to not curl up into a ball and cry.

 

Amami’s still asleep, and she’s definitely certain that no one from the gym would be able to hear her from the classroom.

 

Reluctantly, she picks herself up, and tries again.

\-----

Around noon, Angie cracks open her dorm door a sliver — just enough to peek her head out — allowing herself to scan the area with some subset of paranoia. Thankfully, there’s nobody there, but Angie’s not really sure why she’s so cautious of her surroundings. Before, God would shroud her in some invisibility aura that made people turn away whenever they saw her. That was handy.

 

Nevertheless, Angie nervously steadies her breath, and skips her way through the courtyard into the school building. She takes a left turn, still wary of any people nearby. Thankfully, they’re all exploring the school.

 

She slips by the bathrooms and the school store into the dining hall.

 

The small kitchen’s door is open and has smoke and a fragrant aroma wafting out of it. 

 

“Kirumi! Kirumi!” Angie calls as she approaches Toujou. She’s precisely where Angie had predicted; prior to her lab opening, Toujou often camped at the cafeteria. Toujou obediently turns around, a carrot in her gloved hands. She’s preparing lunch, as she did for the rest of the ensemble eight loops ago. Angie feels sick to her stomach.

 

“Ah, what might you need, Yonaga-san?” Toujou questions.

 

“So…” Angie beams, trying her best to look excited, “God says Angie should totally help Kirumi! Because Kirumi has done so much work for us, and Angie needs to thank her.”

 

Toujou doesn’t look alarmed; more as if she’d  _ always _ experience people rushing in to assist, if Angie were to pinpoint an exact emotion. “I am afraid that will not be necessary, Yonaga-san,” she smiles, setting the carrot down and wiping her gloves on a kitchen towel, “I am doing quite well on my own. Perhaps you should go with Yumeno-san?” 

 

“But Angie wants to help!” she pouts stubbornly, arms crossed at her chest. “You can’t do everything by yourself, even if you are the SHSL Maid!”

 

Toujou’s composure stays the exact same; her posture perfect and proper as she always is. “I suppose I cannot get you to leave,” Toujou sighs, “and as my duty as a maid, I must respect your wishes. I will be making potato croquettes and curry today.”

 

“Great, great! What can Angie do to help?”

 

“Hmm… I am fine with anything, but I would prefer if you were to peel the potatoes,” Toujou suggests absentmindedly. “Just watch out for your fingers.”

 

“Angie will!”

 

“Oh, I apologize. I forgot to mention that the vegetable peeler is on the third drawer to the right,” Toujou states, brushing back a lock of her hair. She turns back to the cutting board, where she precisely slices up a row of carrots.

 

“God thanks you, Kirumi!” Angie gushes, grabbing a tool and running over to the waste bin to peel the potatoes.

\-----

Angie straightens her back, and clears her throat. The Monokuma announcement sounded an hour ago, so everyone should be in their dormitories by now. She was sure no one was asleep — yet — so she had to work quickly, in case someone were to catch her.

 

She protectively sticks her hand in her coat pocket. Her other hand rings the door of Akamatsu Kaede’s dorm. She breathes quickly, any second now; there was no time for anticipating her arrival.

 

In fact, it takes a bit of shuffling until Akamatsu finally appears. Her hair is uncombed; her cowlick even stranger than usual, and her uniform is messy.

 

“What are you doing here, Angie-san?” Akamatsu asks, letting out a yawn and rubbing one of her eyes with the back of her hand.

 

She’s innocent, as always. Or acting innocent, pretending she’s not devising up a plan to murder Amami. The whole mastermind defense was a ploy for pity. It certainly hadn’t worked on Angie, but it did wonders to Momota, Saihara, and Chabashira. 

 

She resists the urge to snort at her own hypocrisy. Angie had no right to do that, but God wasn’t there to stop her. What she did was for the sake of everyone. Not only Amami and Yumeno.

 

Instead, she paints a cheery smile on her face as easily as she paints tribal tattoos on her island village. It’s three swipes of black and one circle of white. Easy, simple. 

 

“Well, well…” Angie informs, keeping her voice down, “Angie thinks she found something important! God says it’s an exit!”

 

“Really? That’s great!” Akamatsu surmises, clapping her hands together in relief. Her expression, from exhausted and lethargic, instantly brightens. “Thank you so much, Angie-san! I’ll make sure to remind you to tell everyone about it tomorrow!”

 

“No!” Angie frets, exaggerating her gestures. “Angie’s scared the mastermind will find out and seal it up! God told Angie to bring Akamatsu to it so she knows what to do!”

 

“It might be dangerous to go out this late, Angie-san,” Akamatsu muses, looking quite hesitant. “Is there something wrong about waiting until morning?”

 

Angie chews her lip in thought. The more elaborate her lie was, the more skeptical Akamatsu would be. But if she didn’t up-play the situation, the more the reason Akamatsu would have for not going.

 

Eventually, she blurts out, “because there’s a time limit on it! Angie saw something that looked like a clock, and she… and she got scared.”

 

“A time limit?” Akamatsu stammers, clutching her chest in surprise. “Angie-san, what time was on it?”

 

“Angie couldn’t read it, because it was too tall!” she fibs easily, trying her best to look afraid and startled. “S-So she thought Kaede could help her…” 

 

“Oh! Of course I can!” Akamatsu smiles, still looking hesitant, but reassured. “Where are we going?”

 

“God says to the library,” Angie responds, satisfied with the flash of recognition in Akamatsu’s eyes. She’s uncomfortable. Of course. Tonight, Akamatsu was getting the cameras prepared, and without her Saihara at her side, she had no one to pity her. Angie almost grins.

 

God does something strange. He doesn’t back her up. He doesn’t tell her what to do. He doesn’t protect her. 

 

He has the audacity to call her a hypocrite.

 

And Angie can’t help but to agree. 

\-----

Angie admires Saihara, she thinks.

 

God had told her he was a good person. A coward; albeit, a good person. If only he hadn’t gotten in the way of her student council the first time.

 

And the first time he sees Akamatsu’s body, after her brutal execution, he cries. He sheds so many tears Angie could barely keep her eyes away. God told her not to. God told her that was how weaklings were, every time  _ she _ cried. He told her His Divine Messenger should not cry. 

 

And she doesn’t.

 

When he sees her body this time; slumped on the ground, blood pooling out of her stomach in the library — not hanging limp off of a noose, her neck bruised to hell and back — Saihara does not cry. He simply squares his jaw, looks downward, and tugs his hat over his head, covering the rest of his exposed face.

 

He does not make any sound as he observes Akamatsu’s body.

 

“Doesn’t look like she died quickly,” Amami remarks softly, as Saihara pries Akamatsu’s hands away from her stomach, where blood coats the entirety of her palms. Some crust pools near the edges of her wide, alarmed eyes.

 

“No. It doesn’t,” Saihara agrees, pulling his cap down lower.

\-----

“I don’t understand,” Hoshi mumbles gruffly. “You say there was a knife gone before the investigation, but it reappeared after Saihara found the body?”

 

“To be precise, it was a paring knife,” Toujou corrects, smoothing down the front of her apron. “I was about to prepare breakfast for everyone, when I noticed a knife was missing.”

 

“Mom! Mom!” Ouma cheers, cupping his hands to the side of his mouth, “what were you gonna make us?”

 

“I do not think that is relevant here.”

 

“But,  _ mom!” _

 

“A traditional Japanese one, and french toast with fruit,” Toujou explains calmly.

 

“Hold the fuck up!” Iruma shouts boisterously, pointing an accusing finger at Toujou. “How come you tell us about this shit after the murder? Not before? You didn’t even include this in your alibi?”

 

“It did not pertain to the incident at the time. I assumed it was one of Ouma-kun’s silly pranks.”

 

“Fair,” Harukawa says under her breath.

 

“Nyeh…” Yumeno yawns, holding her arms at her side. “My magic says… a portal was made…”

 

Saihara starts, “magic isn’t real-”

 

“Shut up, degenerate!” Chabashira snarls, leaping to Yumeno’s defense. Angie almost rolls her eyes at how aggressive she portrays herself as. “Yumeno-san, the SHSL Mage,  _ definitely  _ knows if portals are real or not!”

 

Saihara scratches the back of his head. “N-No, Chabashira-san. Th-There’s no evidence of any portal.”

 

“You-”

 

“Hm… you’re right…” Yumeno agrees, yawning once more. “I’m too tired for this.”

 

“Well! Then I guess it isn’t Toujou!” Momota whistles cheerily, as Chabashira resumes her sniveling. “One suspect down.”

 

“You’d trust a person that quickly?” Hoshi snorts.

 

“Hmm… God is not so sure about that,” Angie insinuates. “What if Kirumi was lying to hide the murder weapon? What if…” she stops for dramatic pause, cupping her hands to her face, “ _ she did it?” _

 

“No, that’s wrong!” Saihara points at her. Angie turns to look at Saihara, startled. He pulls his cap over his eyes, and clears his throat. “I was with Toujou during the morning. I helped her cut up some mango, when I realized one of the knives from the rack were missing.”

 

“Oh… you are correct,” Toujou confirms, resting a hand on the podium. “Saihara-kun woke up early today, and offered to help me in the cafeteria, like Yonaga-san did yesterday. I remember the only reason I was aware of the missing knife was because Saihara-kun informed me.”

 

“I suppose that is a viable alibi,” Shinguuji adds, “but wouldn’t that incriminate Saihara-kun? As he was the one who told you.”

 

“I get what you mean, Shinguuji-kun,” Saihara starts, fiddling with the podium front, “but I couldn’t have done it, because A-Akamatsu-san was killed at one last night.”

 

“That does not retract my previous statement,” Shinguuji presses. 

 

“The cafeteria is closed at night,” Saihara explains, looking more distressed than annoyed. “It played last night, stated in the announcement.”

 

“Ah, my apologies,” Shinguuji muses. “I seem to have forgotten.”

 

“Nishishi… Angie-chan helped you yesterday?” Ouma inquires after the trial room goes silent, ignoring everything else Toujou and Shinguuji had said. He slyly places his index finger on his chin. “Care to explain what you did, Angie-chan?”

 

“Angie only did what Kirumi asked her to!” she huffs stubbornly, crossing her arms. “She peeled some potatoes!”

 

“Toujou-chan, did anyone else enter the cafeteria yesterday? Besides Angie-chan, of course,” Ouma grins.

 

“Well, yes,” Toujou starts. “But it was only for lunch and dinner. If I recall, only Yonaga-san entered the kitchen.”

 

“Nishishi! Guess we found the killer!” Ouma gloats. “Though, I  _ do _ wish you’d made it more interesting… what’s next? Was God a farce?”

 

Angie stays silent.

 

The voting is unanimous. Even Angie votes for herself.

 

“Upupu! I guess you guys got it!” Monokuma laughs, placing his hands on his chest in glee. “Nice for a first run!”

 

“Angie-san, you…” Angie’s looking down, but she can imagine the betrayal on Saihara’s face, like when he first realized Akamatsu was the murderer. “You didn’t even take the First Blood perk… Why did you kill…” 

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ouma interjects, answering for her. “She’s going to make up an excuse about how God made her! Boring!”

 

No matter the questions, Angie doesn’t respond. When Momota peppers her with questions, when Amami simply looks aside, as if expectant, or when Chabashira attempts to lunge at her.

 

Angie stays silent.

 

“Angie’s sorry,” she says, when the iron chain snaps around her neck and drags her off as easily as it had Akamatsu.

 

She was no angel, or a saint. Only Yonaga Angie, a stone cold murderer, who wasn’t worthy of redemption. 

 

Angie closes her eyes, clasps her hands over her head, and merely prays as a shower of burning hot wax trickles down her skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hn


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gaymers

The effigies are finished.

 

Angie’s beautiful wax statues, sculpted without His godly presence.  _ Angie lasted this long, without His godly presence. _ All three of them stand in an incomplete rhombus. Amami on the left, smiling gently, his arms crossed; Toujou in the back, her face stony and cold, every single cobweb pattern on her apron chiseled to perfection; and Hoshi, standing short and grim in the very front, as he normally had.

 

Angie clenches her hand. Three out of four are done. Seventy-five percent. One more block of cold wax remains, barely sculpted at. Only a pencil outline forms the shape of Akamatsu, with her beautiful, kind, murderer face. 

 

She knocks her chisel with ease, carving out the select spots roughly. She immerses herself in it. Saihara, Chabashira, and Harukawa (a murderer even worse than the pianist) should arrive shortly, so Angie hums softly to draw herself away from their eventual presence.

 

She ignores the fact that today, right after they leave, she dies. 

 

But Angie’s not sure why she cares. She twirls her wooden hammer with her fingers, carelessly flicking it around. She hums God’s chants, his wondrous ceremonial hymns, as they were the only thing she knew. Once sung with enthusiasm and grandeur quickly changes to apathy, as if it were a chore; as if feel happy was mandatory.

 

She wonders how the student council is, and eventually, it traces back to Yumeno. Her cheeks burn unnaturally. It's strange. She brushes her hand across the apple of her face, fairly concerned with the temperature.

 

There was no way she could have a fever, right? Angie presses these questions on herself as she switches from carving out Akamatsu’s completed body, to absentmindedly swiping her oil paint across the surface, careful not to create any impurities. She delicately outlines her eyelashes and fills in Akamatsu’s pupils.

 

God doesn't have an answer to her strange dilemma. He's still asleep, Angie thinks bitterly. That was her excuse the first time, when he left her in solitude for fourteen hours, only to materialize out of thin air to command her to enter the middle room and retrieve the candle.

 

Almost as if He knew Shinguuji would be there.

 

Angie shivers. Shinguuji was strange. He had no possible motive to try to kill Angie, unless he really despised the Necronomicon and Amami that much. 

 

It's time, Angie realizes, when the doors force their way backwards, only to be stopped by the lock she had implemented. The locks clatter.

 

There’s three pounds on the door. Harukawa, of course. “Yonaga, open this door. Now,” she demands, her knocking growing impatient. She huffs in frustration from the other side, and jiggles the doorknob.

 

Chabashira chides Harukawa nervously. Angie can hear every bit of what she says, but she chooses to ignore it, instead, focusing on bringing out the shadows of Akamatsu’s shirt.

 

There’s hushed whispering — as if Angie couldn’t hear the previous conversation — and then Chabashira knocks on the door. “Angie-san, it’s Tenko,” she says anxiously. It’s a trap. Angie isn’t dumb, no matter how her persona portrays her as. It's more of a mantra than the truth. “Tenko wants to talk to you about something… could you open the door?”

 

Angie braces herself. She takes a deep breath, and stacks Akamatsu along with the others, right next to Amami, and cheerfully makes her way towards the group. Clicking the lock and slowly opening the door, she forces her face into awe as she stares at the girl, pretending not to notice Harukawa and Saihara. “Oh… hi hi, Tenko!” 

 

“Hi, Angie-san,” Chabashira replies, looking down, sweat dripping down her forehead. “H-How have you been?”

 

“Angie is doing well!” she lies, hiding her hammer behind her back. Angie pretends to peer around, scanning the area behind Chabashira. “My, my!” she gasps, as if finally noticing the other two, “when did Maki and Shuichi arrive? Where is Kaito?”

 

It's as if Harukawa and Saihara hadn’t expected this to happen. Harukawa clenches her jaw tightly. Saihara looks down, the eerie lighting of the hallway causing shadows strangely reminiscent of his discarded hat across his face. And Chabashira looks to the latter in fear, her eyes darting between the group and Angie.

 

Harukawa starts, “Momota is-”

 

“Doing fine!” Saihara interjects roughly, causing Harukawa to pause and glare at him. “We were wondering if we could, er, talk to you about something.”

 

“About the Necronomicon?” Angie tilts her head to the side, and blinks innocently.

 

“Yes.” Harukawa seems to have taken control of the situation; typical of a bloodthirsty murderer. 

 

(Alas, if only she were gone. The killing game would’ve ended right that instance, if a pesky assassin weren't there. Angie would be a hero, like she wanted.)

 

“We would like to come inside, Yonaga.”

 

It's not a suggestion. It's an order that's heavily implied when she strolls past her quickly.

 

But not quick enough. “You know about how Angie wants to resurrect Rantarou?” she asks, batting her eyelashes. She chews her lip, anxious of the result.

 

Harukawa freezes in place, ever so predictable. She narrows her eyes and stares at Angie suspiciously. “Can you repeat that again?” she asks quietly.

 

“God is sure Maki heard the first time!” Angie taunts, waving her hammer around in a flourish. “Angie wants to revive Rantarou!”

 

Saihara turns pale, as if he were imagining her to have chosen Akamatsu instead. “If I may ask, Angie-san… why?” he gulps, staring down awkwardly.

 

She lists the reasons from the top of her head. “Well, Kirumi and Kaede are murderers, so what's to say they won't do it again?” Angie explains, giving a coy glance towards Harukawa. “Angie won't take a risk, and she's sure Shuuichi, Tenko, and Maki know why!”

 

“Er… Why the other menace instead of Hoshi?” Chabashira grits her teeth subtly, dawdling near the entrance of Angie's lab. Quick escape route.

 

“Ryouma wants to die anyway, so what's the point?” Angie brushes it aside, letting a surplus of brushes rain into the sink, “plus, God really thinks he brings the morale down of the group.”

 

Harukawa jerks towards her direction, as if wanting to lunge at her.

 

But Saihara quickly intervenes before she has the chance. “Angie-san… I understand, but why would you sculpt everyone who died, instead of only Amami-kun?” 

 

“Well,” Angie pauses, eyes darting around the room, “because God said so,” she says simply.

 

“Because God said so,” Harukawa repeats scathingly.

 

Angie waves her arms around nonchalantly, stifling a giggle. She goads cheerfully, “Angie’s glad Maki understands!” 

 

Harukawa’s face hardens. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“Oh, then what did Maki mean?” Angie taunts, continuing her pursuit. “Are you scared that as soon as Angie revives Rantarou, you’ll kill him again?”

 

Chabashira interrupts before Harukawa has a chance to retaliate. “Th-thank you, Angie-san,” she quickly exclaims, shooting a nervous glance at Harukawa. “Harukawa-san, Saihara, y-you should leave with Tenko.”

 

“I-” Harukawa protests, but silences herself quickly. “Fine, I guess,” she mumbles, shooting an icy glare at Angie. 

 

Saihara looks around, almost in confusion. “U-Uh,” he stammers, struggling to create a coherent sentence, “bye, Angie-san.”

 

“Bye, bye, Shuuichi!” she beams back in response, aggravated with the way he shuts the door and leaves without listening.

\-----

Around two hours after Saihara’s checkup (or something around that; there’s no clock in Angie’s research lab and God was not there to talk to her) Angie finally looks up from her masterpiece.

 

Well, the model, not the person.

 

Akamatsu was carved and painted to every little detail, every crevice colored appropriately. Her face holds proud, visible triumph, her effigy positioned with her arms resting passively at her sides. She’s a perfect, exact replica of the real Akamatsu, every flaw perfectly implemented; yet lifeless: her eyes painted bright but glassy. 

 

It was one of the most beautiful things Angie has created, and she despises it with all of her heart.

 

Akamatsu’s effectiveness at fooling everyone makes Angie sick. There was no way to amend for her faults (God, she can feel the paring knife stabbing into flesh right now, making a disgusting noise that makes her shiver in discomfort) but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t hate Akamatsu. 

Gritting her teeth, Angie tuts as she scurries around the statues, unpleased with the mess she had created. Thin, curled wax shavings litter the floor, almost like sawdust or snow. Miscellaneous drops of paint stain random areas. As Angie treks across it to reach the Necronomicon, it makes a soft crunching noise.

 

But as she grabs the black cover of the too-familiar book, Angie’s arms tense and she freezes, gritting her teeth. 

 

She would negotiate with God. He would accept, and direct her to the middle room, where Shinguuji resided. There would be a saw in his hand, and he would look at her in concealed fury as she stepped into his trap.

 

There's a strange kink on her neck that won't go away, so Angie gently rolls her neck to loosen the strain.

 

Additionally, she gently massages her neck with her fingers. As she nears the top center, she holds her breath as her fingers ghost over… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

Why is there nothing? Angie holds her breath and forces herself to calm down and breathe. Shakily, she traces her fingers around the raw bits, some substance flaking off. Angie doesn't dare pull her hand down to examine it. 

 

Breathe. She closes her eyes as she sticks her index down the slit in her neck, almost convulsing in pain as she does so. Her other hand drops the Necronomicon on the ground, resulting in a thud.

 

Somehow, the memory of a sword plunging itself into her neck appears; but surely it was false. Angie was not bleeding heavily. Her spinal cord and the precious veins in her neck were perfectly intact, and she was alive. She reassures herself that the last thing that happened was Shinguuji hitting her on the head with a floorboard, and nothing else.

 

Nothing. Angie turns her head sharply to the side, screaming at the pain pulling at her esophagus as she does so. She takes her hand off her neck, placing her trembling fingers in front of her face, where she could see every last detail.

 

There's nothing on her fingers. She even checks under her short, weathered fingernails. Not even a tiny drop of blood, much more concentrated in pigment than the luxury paints Angie has used from time to time. 

 

Nothing is wrong. Her breathing steadies when she extends her hand, gently wrapping it around the curvature of her neck. The texture of the same skin being felt on her fingertips, not a gaping, bloodied hole from a poor attempt to decapitate her.

 

Or just kill her.

 

She shivers, and it’s not from the cold.

 

But it’s completely fine. This time, God won't guide her to Shinguuji’s presence; rather, He would try, but Angie wouldn't listen, regardless.

 

When God's words play again, Angie simply stares off to the side, refusing to acknowledge it. He tries to guide her to the middle room, where Shinguuji lurks, probably grinning under his mask like a vile madman. 

 

Did Shinguuji really despise Amami enough to kill Angie over her decision?

 

That crosses her mind as Angie takes her time moving towards the front entrance of her research dorm. Her hand barely touches the doorknob before she jerks it back as if she had touched molten iron. Angie's heart pounds so loudly in her palm and her neck that it threatens to cut out of her throat, silencing her for good. 

 

She drops the Necronomicon. It collides with the floor with a reverberating thud. Its cover is too bruised and battered for Angie to worry about the condition, but she flips it over just in case, brushing the cover more out of obligation than real concern.

 

“Angie should wait for tomorrow,” she exclaims aloud, droplets of sweat falling down her forehead. Angie rubs at her temples numbly, displeased with the way it doesn't get rid of the pain. “Where everyone can see the resurrection of Rantarou.”

 

She chooses to omit the part where she’s too afraid of Shinguuji to even step out of her safe haven.

\-----

When Angie wakes up, her neck and arm hurt. Numbed and weak, she can barely gather her thoughts together, or even think straight. The pain is so dull and subtle; more bothersome than painful, she can barely move her body or even wiggle her toes. Angie groans as she straightens her back; it makes a loud popping noise when she cautiously stretches it out. It hurts as she leans back, feeling not a soft, fluffy pillow, but a hard wall. 

 

Groggily, she wonders why the mattress on her luxurious (or adequate to some; Angie typically slept on the floor) bed was so bumpy and hard.

 

Angie smacks herself on the head — not physically; she was much too fatigued to even attempt to move her limbs — when she realizes that she's still in her research dorm. The smell of paint and clay is dormant; the hard floor is familiar; and there's a draft in the room that was certainly not in her own dorm.  _ That _ was why she felt so cold, even with her sunshine-bright coat draped over her. 

 

With a start, Angie’s hand graces over an object hugged tightly in her arms. She flings the object to the side, flinching at how it thuds loudly as it crashes into a cup of paintbrushes tossed carelessly on the floor of the dorm; spilling all the brushes to the ground. She squints as her head jerks towards it, trying to make out what it could be through bleary eyes.

 

And with its worn and matte black cover, Angie can certainly deduce what it is.

 

Right. Angie manages to stand up easily, with newfound energy coursing through her veins. Today was the day of Amami’s resurrection; a chance to prove to all her fellow classmates that she  _ was _ capable of containing such a rowdy and diverse group, and how omnipotent God was.

 

She grits her teeth at the reminder of God. He hadn't talked for a while now, ever since she had decided to not go to the middle room. Perhaps he approved of her decision.

 

Or He was gone.

 

Angie thinks she prefers the latter.

 

Nevertheless, with God and His enchanting presence gone, Angie would be charging in blind without His annoying (yet helpful) advice. His commands and authority would turn obsolete if He hadn't existed.

 

That meant Angie was all alone. That meant Angie had to continue whatever student council mess she had gotten herself into without any assistance. Yonaga Angie had to protect everyone by herself, on her own accord. 

 

And she starts by gathering her stuff, and marching over to retrieve a candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out this is longer than it should be. i


	4. Chapter 4

The statue of Amami was too heavy and delicate for Angie to lug around. She scowls in annoyance. After some (futile) attempts, Angie decides to only take the Necronomicon along, in case her lab would be broken into when she was out. Ouma could do that easily, as evidenced by the whole Bug Meet n’ Greet fiasco. She wouldn’t be remotely bothered if Amami’s statue was defaced or crudely painted on; she had already written his name on the back as a safety precaution, in case her sculpture wasn’t flawlessly identical as the procedure Monokuma had described.

 

But for the Necronomicon, it simply wasn’t the worth the risk, even if the likelihood of her Necronomicon getting stolen was small. It was worth a life. This stupid, battered novel could revive Amami. Angie was _not_ going to let anyone steal it on their own selfish ambitions, at the expense of a human life.

 

Her footsteps are stopped when she hears a symphony of shuffling towards her lab’s entrance, definitely through the corridor. Coupled with the fact that it was fairly early in the morning — Angie wasn’t even sure she heard the Monokuma Announcement yet — it set a chill of unease through her.

 

“... I just… check… Angie…” Yumeno’s soft-spoken voice is transmitted beyond comprehension through the door. Angie has to strain her head closer to even hear her. “... don’t… stop Angie…”

 

“Because the ritual is Monokuma’s motive, we shouldn’t just _let_ it happen,” Saihara refutes quickly, as if it were plainly obvious.

 

Angie throws her hand over her mouth to cover her snort.

 

“T-That’s exactly right!” Momota yells, as brash and brazen as he was previously. Angie quirks her head in interest in his newfound morale; wasn’t Momota scared beyond recognition the past few days, especially after Monokuma had announced their new motive. “It’s not because I’m scared or anything, okay?” He basically confirms it himself.

 

“But it’s good that… here…” Angie rolls her eyes and almost groans aloud. Harukawa was here as well. “She won’t open… the door… members… council, right? So tell Yonaga to open the door for us.”

 

“Nyeh. That’s not possible,” Yumeno states stubbornly.

 

Her grand entrance. Angie was never a person to shy away from the spotlight; and why should she? She _was_ a messenger of God. She was more than worthy to brilliantly announce her tactful decisions, and prove Saihara and his little clique wrong. For God wanted it.

 

(The real Angie, hidden behind years and years and loops and loops of thinly woven lies is scared, anxiety and fear hindering her ability to escape the corner she’s been backed into-)

 

Nevertheless, Angie doesn't waste time swinging the door open. As soon as it does, Yumeno sluggishly backs away from the entrance, and Angie looks in no particular direction guiltily. But the Necronomicon is still gripped tauntingly between her torso and her arm, as if daring someone to swipe it out of her grasp.

 

“My, my!” she gasps, lifting her free hand in faux shock. “What are you all doing outside of Angie’s research lab?”

 

Nobody seems too alarmed. Yumeno looks to the side wearily, tugging her hat over her head as she yawns. Harukawa glares at Angie with a fiery anger that Angie counters by offering a sly smile. Saihara only flinches, caught in surprise at Angie’s sudden appearance. Momota downright screams.

 

“Angie… why weren’t you answering the door?” Yumeno asks softly, a subtle hint of concern in her voice. “Nyeh… I was gonna bust it open with magic.”

 

“Well… Angie was asleep until now… she only woke up recently!” she answers truthfully, well aware of the side-eyed glance Harukawa shoots at her suspiciously. Angie ushers Yumeno towards her, “and God told Angie He misses Himiko so much!”

 

“Really?” Yumeno asks, drifting towards Angie as if she were in a trance. “He… He did?”

 

“Of course He did!” Angie chirps, and then hugs Yumeno in a tight embrace. Yumeno’s face blooms red. “He wanted Angie to tell you, so she did! Duh! He also wants Himiko to enter Angie's dorm and look at all the effigies she made!”

 

Angie hears a slight cough, and raises her head. She sees Saihara, awkwardly placing his fist in front of his mouth. “Angie-san… this might not be the best time. For, uh, that.”

 

“Why not?” Angie inquires, peeling herself away from Yumeno. She beckons her to her talent lab. “Go on, Himiko,” she coaxes.

 

“O… okay…” Yumeno obliges, and slowly makes her way inside Angie's lab.

 

“Because,” Saihara coughs into his fist again, when Yumeno temporarily leaves the battlefield, “I think we need to… er… talk about things regarding to the Necronomicon.” Saihara glances down quickly at the book in Angie's hand.

 

“The Necronomicon? The thing that Angie's holding?” Angie feigns, holding the book out and examining it as if it were something else.

 

“Qu-Quit the bullshit,” says Momota, visibly frightened. “You c-can’t revive dead people! It’s not fuckin’ possible at all!”

 

“Are you sure?” Angie interrogates, widening her eyes. She raises the Necronomicon to her chest, and hugs it tightly, as she had done with Yumeno. “God told Angie that they can. And,” she pauses, wallowing in her lie, “He is never wrong. Just like how God is not wrong about Kaito being afraid of the third floor, and ghosts.”

 

He pales, almost turning blue. “Hey! I’m not-”

 

“Yeah… nyeh…” Yumeno adds lazily from the doorway, admiring the Amami sculpture in interest. She rubs her half-lidded eye. “God’s a handsome man” — Angie involuntarily cringes, but, in a fit of panic, disguises it as a cough — “and He’s always right. Like Angie said.”

 

After she's said her fair share, Yumeno simply slinks back into the research dormitory. Angie makes sure to close the door right after she enters, hoping Yumeno would take the hint and not go outside until she had finished dealing with the others.

 

“Angie-san, I’m not doubting your capabilities,” Saihara starts, his hand reaching towards his head habitually, before retracting back down.

 

“You mean you’re not doubting God’s,” Angie corrects quickly. She refrains from raising her eyebrows, no matter how intrigued she was at his response. It’s a carefully planned statement to elicit information; not just a slip of tongue or something out of pure instinct. “After all, God _does_ tell Angie all this stuff.”

 

And it works wonders. Saihara only sighs, exasperated but patient. “Of course He is, Angie-san,” he continues hesitantly, as if trying to appease her, “but as Momota-kun had said, the chances of the Necronomicon actually working… are slim.”

 

“That’s why it’s up to Angie to try it out, and see if it works,” she scorns, clicking her tongue. “Aren’t you, like, a detective, Shuuichi?”

 

Saihara’s face falls instantaneously. Clearly in discomfort, he stumbles over his once perfectly coherent interrogations. Angie can barely hear him coupled with the mumbling and the way his head hangs down in dejection.

 

“This is going too far,” Harukawa interjects as Saihara looks down, speaking to her for the first time since her arrival. Even Momota, albeit frightened half to death, seems surprised at her sudden defense of Saihara. Harukawa stands guard near the front of the corridor the furthest from Angie, as if she simply couldn’t be bothered to come closer. Her tone is apathetic, yet the tiny reminder of a threat lingers. “Just give us the Necronomicon, Yonaga.”

 

“And what if Angie doesn't?” she taunts back, with the same hostility as Harukawa.

 

“I’ll have to take it by force,” Harukawa answers casually, as if she was doing something as harmless as reciting a textbook passage.

 

“H-Harumaki,” Momota warns, but his voice is too quiet and shaky for Angie to really care.

 

“My, my!” Angie’s gasps are exaggerated and playful. “By force? God asks… would you… kill Angie?”

 

Harukawa’s eyes flash with an unidentifiable emotion. The sides of her jaw clench and her face darkens ever so slightly; her cheeks flushing red with anger. She looks ready to lunge at Angie and attack her, or run away. Harukawa opens and closes her mouth, as if a fish gasping for air. 

 

“I think… we should go,” Saihara says in place of Harukawa, still looking down glumly. “If it wasn't obvious enough, Angie-san won't actually change her mind.”

 

“Yep, yep!” Angie agrees, a cheerfully fake smile planted on her lips. Her mouth tastes metallic and her throat is uncomfortably dry, but she forces the smile, nevertheless. “‘Cuz, when God tells Angie to, Angie has to help!”

 

Harukawa glowers at Angie. “Then why did you waste our time in the first place?” She doesn’t even pause to wait for a response, instead, she stomps off; pigtails whipping around her back; hands balled into fists. The sharp noise of her footsteps don't even falter as she turns the corner.

 

“I-I sh-should go as well,” Momota says to no one in particular. “N-Not ‘cause I'm fuckin’ sc-scared, or anything.”

 

When Momota leaves, Saihara doesn't follow him. Instead, he remains stationary, not even attempting to move or get away from Angie.

 

“Angie guesses she will-”

 

“What do you have to gain from this, Angie-san?” Saihara asks, still looking down with the somber expression on his face.

 

“Huh?” Angie asks, genuinely confused. Her stomach rumbles and she looks aside, pretending that she hadn't heard it. Her mouth is a desert and she's aching to leave; but she can't do it abruptly without Saihara immediately becoming even _more_ suspicious of her.

 

“Do you get any benefits from reviving — that is, assuming that it's legitimate — Amami-kun? Why are you so adamant about reviving him, and only him? Why not someone else?” Angie can almost hear the plea in Saihara’s voice, and it's so inexplicably obvious that she can't even answer his barrage of questions. “Please Angie-san, just tell me the truth.”

 

“The truth?” Angie snorts, as if trying to restrain her laughter, “why doesn't Shuuichi tell Angie the truth, first? Then it'll be fair, ‘cuz God said so!”

 

“About what?”

 

“Why you want _Kaede_ ,” — Angie says her name in thinly veiled disgust, disguising it in a voice so syrupy and sickly sweet as honey — “to be alive. She killed someone, y’know!” Angie clicks her tongue, “and, Shuuichi knows, _God hates murderers_.”

 

That flips a switch in Saihara; he suddenly looks at Angie directly in the eye with newfound confidence. Although his determination, Saihara seems too aghast, and he still sputters his response. “Yes, she did,” Saihara says rather calmly. “But it was for a good cause; Akamatsu-san was trying to find the mastermind.”

 

“Right, right. So, like… if Angie kills you, and just claims she was trying to find the mastermind, would you believe her? Would you forgive her? Would, by God, she be worthy of getting revived?” she asks plainly, twirling her chisel around her hand in an attempt to distract herself from the budding tension.

 

“Well, obviously not!” Saihara answers, backing away. “You… you’re in charge of a cult! You manipulated everyone here! But Akamatsu-san… A-Akamatsu-san…”

 

“But Angie hasn’t killed anyone. God asked for Angie to do all the things she’s done,” Angie argues back.

 

“At least she doesn’t hide behind excuses. Not an omnipotent deity, oh no,” Saihara makes a noise that’s a combination of a laugh and a strangled cry, “she accepts defeat. She told us the truth. I think you should learn a lesson from her, Angie-san.”

 

Angie doesn’t respond, her willpower more focused on stopping the bombardment of tears from falling on her already reddened cheeks than to refute his statement. She grinds her teeth so hard that a headache forms — or maybe that’s simply because she hadn’t eaten in the past two days —, chipping away at her head, as if it were as soft and as malleable as clay. She’s just trying to help everyone, to do what God had failed; to do as His divine messenger had been assigned to do from her very beginning.

 

Saihara notices, and for once, he laughs. Typically, Angie would associate laughter with the cheers heard in the festivals she had often coordinated. It’s one of the few she’s heard, personally, in a while, ever since Akamatsu’s death. It’s not jovial like when they walked shoulder to shoulder into their dorms, desperately hanging on to each other for some sake of peacefulness in the Academy. It's more bitter and sudden; and it's the most pained noise Angie has ever heard in her entire life.

 

Tendrils of cool gray wrap around Saihara’s body, encasing him in fog. “Yeah. I figured,” he says unapologetically, the smoke rushing out of his mouth. Angie flinches when the colors turn from gray to black to beige to gray. And suddenly, the smoke is around her now, and she can't breathe. This had only happened once before; when the hurricane tore over her own island apart. Out of panic, she squeezes her eyes shut.

 

And then — it recedes, disintegrating back into the weary figure of Saihara Shuuichi. “And, for the record, Angie-san,” he says hoarsely; turning away, “I never wanted to be a detective in the first place.”

 

The sadness Angie feels is only momentary, even when the sound of Saihara’s footsteps stop as he walks away further, and she’s left all alone, standing in the dim light of the hallway. It breezes through the slivers of her fist as easily as air. It’s only momentary, she repeats, focused on the way the patterns curve on the wall, as if following the curve of an arm, so, so familiar, yet she can’t place if it’s for God’s high priest or the normal commoners. In fact, Angie doesn’t even remember tattoos she had once helped design, even though it was something she could sketch out with her eyes closed.

 

She supposes it’s not as questionable as how she repeatedly lives and dies and lives. Saihara not liking her? Completely fine, even if God wasn’t used to it. The tremors on her lip die out, and she wipes her eyes with her jacket, displeased with the way the raincoat material didn’t completely absorb any liquid.

 

 _Paint on a big smile_ , He whispers, as he had done so many times before.

 

And Angie does so. Unconsciously, a smile as bright and as radiant as the rays of a fluorescent light — fit for the messenger of God, of course! — forms on her lips, as easily as she paints on coats of paint to hide impurities.

 

Yumeno’s still in her research lab, she realizes. Angie enters without a second thought.

 

“Nyeh… hey, Angie.” Yumeno’s in the far corner of the room, doodling on a canvas with a crayon. The noise is scratchy and loud; Angie could hear it from across the room.

 

“Himiko!” she beams, rushing over to her quickly. Yumeno only flinches slightly when Angie’s arm wraps around her torso, but she quickly warms up to the hug, her arms unstiffened.

 

“I was just wondering if you… if you were okay. ‘Cuz that would mean God’s okay,” Yumeno says breezily, as if it was a normal, casual thing to say. Her shoulders roll lightly, as if she was trying to politely shrug Angie off; or perhaps she was too inclined with her drawing to have pried Angie’s hands off her.

 

Angie’s smile drops as easily as it had rose. Her ears ring, and her heart pounds. “Yes, yes, Himiko! Angie and _God_ are definitely both safe!” she says through her teeth, as she loosens her grip, letting her arms fall to her side.

 

“That’s good,” Yumeno replies indifferently.

 

“Yep!” Angie prods the Necronomicon in her hand nervously. This was new; Angie was never nervous, no matter the circumstances.

 

But God was on her side at that time.

 

Yumeno turns around suddenly, and her eyes stay apathetic as she notices the Necronomicon. “Hmm… Are you… are you going to revive Amami now?” Yumeno asks, twiddling with the tip of the crayon. It’s blunt and her scribbles look increasingly chaotic.

 

“Yes, yes!” Angie repeats. “But, but, God said that Himiko has to totally leave for the ritual to be complete! Or else it’ll be a failure, and He’ll blame Angie for it!”

 

Some part of her wishes Yumeno would stay; not as a student council member, but something more. She squeezes her fist inside her pocket, wishing Yumeno would take the hint.

 

Yumeno’s eyes are not one of empathy, or understanding. They glass over, and, obediently, she nods in response.

 

“Oh… well, if God says so, I guess I will.” Yumeno hops off the small stool she had been sitting on. She takes her time to stretching out her arms and yawning. “I’ll go see Tenko now.”

 

“Tenko? But— God said you can’t talk to people who aren’t in the student council!”

 

“Nyeh… I forgot,” Yumeno shrugs off Angie’s scolding, and makes her way towards the exit, “I’ll just go to my dorm.”

 

(Yumeno doesn’t say goodbye and Angie just hopes she forgot)

 

As soon as the door clicks shut, she collapses on the floor; her raincoat falling; shrouding her hunched figure, as if they were folded angel wings, without any of the grace and honor and the respect that befell among angels. They were saviors. They were the signs of upcoming peace; of good fortune; of blessings. Not of deaths she could never prevent and ridicule.

 

For the first time in her life — or maybe not first, Angie never really counted — she cries.

 

\-----

“Amami Rantarou. Amami Rantarou. Amami Rantarou,” Angie chants, her eyes squeezed shut. She prays to any God out there that the aforementioned ritual would work. Her room smells entirely like char, and she can barely breathe; but Angie doesn’t dare do anything that would interrupt her summoning.

 

A tap on her shoulder is the confirmation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys welcome to my roblox lets play today ill be making minecraft 
> 
> if ur confused angie slept past the morning announcement and that was why it was all wonky


	5. Chapter 5

Angie clasps her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turn white, as pale as her platinum blonde hair. The room still smells of fire and carbon. Angie suspects the burned Necronomicon is still smoking in its pile of scattered ashes.

 

But Angie doesn't dare to confirm its authenticity by opening her eyes and seeing it for herself, in fear the ritual might fail, considering Monokuma’s antics; his manipulation and coercion. It’s far too risky to open her eyes and check for herself, especially with the circumstances so dire and consequential. Perhaps biding her time would be the safer alternative, so Angie does just that, waiting for Amami to make the first move.

 

There's a loud coughing and Angie swears — no, she knows for  _ certain _ — that it's not her.

 

“Angie-san?” someone says, but their voice sounds distanced and warbly; like it was submerged in water. There's a small brushing noise, like fingers on fabric. “Are you alright?”

 

Angie takes a breath of relief, and almost tears up at her victory. Her only friend (or, if he was to be classified as that way) was back alive, in the flesh.

 

And Akamatsu wasn't here to kill him again.

 

“You don't need to cry,” he says slowly, as if trying to not trip over his words. Angie adds another tally to her mind, resisting the urge to brush a finger on her cheek and check for herself. “It's harmless here, I think. Except for all the ash, if you don't mind.” 

 

“Angie doesn't,” she whispers hoarsely, raking a hand through her hair to distract herself. “Angie doesn't mind. She really doesn't.”

 

“Oh… that's great,” Amami states, more a deadpan than an exclamation. “Er, might you know where we are? It looks like an art room and there are two exits.”

 

Angie finally manages to pry her eyes open. It stings at the sudden, abrupt change in lighting, and she squints as she looks around for sight of Amami. 

 

As she swivels her head to the left, she can see him, but just barely. Her vision is fuzzy and clouded from the tears, but she can see the vague outline of Amami, as perfect and realistic to the person as Angie had chiseled him to. It was hard to believe he was once a cold, lifeless piece of wax; entirely artificial in his appearance and the way he smiled as if he had no care in the world.

 

“Are you alright, Angie-san?” he asks, twisting the doorknob. He frowns, and shakes the brass, as if it would give away. “Ah, shit,” Amami says under his breath, as if he couldn’t say it in front of her — well, she did recall him saying she reminded him of his sister one time — jiggling the doorknob, but to no avail; it stays put.

 

“Yep, yep!” she tries to say enthusiastically, but it only comes out hoarse and soft, barely audible over the sudden ringing in her ears. Her vision is still cloudy, but no matter how much she blinks, it doesn't dissipate. Her face feels cold, and she shivers. 

 

“You look sick — oh, I didn’t even notice there was a lock!” Amami exclaims, somewhat embarrassed. The door opens with ease. Amami turns to look at Angie worriedly. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes,  _ definitely  _ embarrassed with his spacial unawareness. “You look pale, and-”

 

“Angie’s fine,” she snaps back, ignoring the part where Amami was completely correct.

 

Amami shuts up immediately, not wanting to press on. Angie’s glad he catches on quickly — at the least, quicker than her fellow classmates. “I'm not even sure where we are…” Amami sighs, trying to change the subject; crossing his arms together. “I remember I was in… I was in the bathroom, right before I suddenly appeared here.”

 

Angie resists the urge to choke out “liar!” (though, she could argue that Amami was not on par or as much as a difficult wildcard as Ouma was) — instead, holding her hand to her throat, trying to clear her airway. She finds it so difficult to breathe; as if the air she inhaled was made out of some noxious gas, creeping into her lungs.

 

But she knows, she  _ knows for a fact, _ where they are, she knows for  _ certain _ that Amami never even went in to a bathroom, and she knows his detour to the library.

 

Angie squeezes her eyes shut, remembering the smell of iron on the tip of her tongue; the  _ distinctive _ stench that could have came from nothing else; the way sanguine stained green in a messy, jumbled hue of colors. She can hear — she actually can't, not over the blaring music — the lull of the shot put ball rolling down the trail of books Akamatsu had set up, so lovingly,  _ so carefully _ , and the resounding crack of it on a skull.

 

“Angie doesn't know,” she replies.

 

Amami opens his mouth.

 

The intercom cracks, interrupting whatever Amami was saying — or, rather, what he was going to say. A disembodied voice — belonging to some  _ thing _ too cheery to belong in a killing game environment — clears its throat. Out of the corner of Angie’s eye, she can see the monitor placed in the back-center of her research dorm light up.

 

Angie feels sick. Cupping her hands to her stomach, she begrudgingly turns to the direction of the monochrome tablet situated on its stand. Angie can visualize what’s on it before it turns on completely; a smug, disgusting bear, leisurely sprawled on a couch, sipping at some thing Angie could only imagine to be alcohol; not an ounce of remorse or pity in its permanently happy face. 

 

“Angie-san?” Amami looks taken aback, and his eyes widen with some unreadable emotion along the lines of pure, unadulterated fear. “Do you know what’s going on?”

 

“Sorry to intrude on your sleep, dear students!” Monokuma snickers right when the monitor turns on fully, as if it was expected and meticulously, “but this is too important — and interesting, I assume, as well — to simply put off until the morning!”

 

“God doesn’t know,” she murmurs back in alarm, eyes glued to the monitor; her interest suddenly piqued. 

 

“Now, I know what you Super High School Levels are thinking: ‘Wow, is our dearly coveted headmaster really making us do this?’ or something along the lines of ‘are we sent to kill each other again?’ And the answer is no! This is simply an announcement, and if you are not interested, you can simply go back to sleep! But enough with the introduction!”

 

Angie’s stomach twists into the most complicated of knots. She squeezes her eyes shut, as if that would suddenly get rid of the resonating voice.

 

“An eye for an eye.” The screen shuts off quickly, buzzing into static.

 

The bullet lodges into Angie’s head before she realizes it.

\-----

When Angie wakes up again, she punches the desk so hard that her knuckles bleed.

\-----

“I apologize, as I am bad at names; Yonaga-san, was it not?” Toujou asks, stoic and indifferent to the severity of the gashes and splinters on Angie’s hand. Her gloved hand — she notes how the black glove feels like polyester — holds Angie’s up at eye level, examining the cuts carefully. “I overheard Gokuhara-kun talking, and I just would like to clarify.”

 

The cafeteria is strangely empty. Angie had never recalled being in the cafeteria for any purpose except for meals alone. She grinds her teeth in frustration; why did she choose the  _ cafeteria _ of all places? Of  _ course _ the SHSL Maid would be in here.

 

And now she was involved.

 

“You can just call Angie, Angie,” she offers. She tries to hide the confusion on her face; Toujou had killed someone before, yet she doesn’t recoil at the touch. 

 

God would have — no, God  _ has _ — branded Toujou Kirumi a murderer. A cold blooded, non-sympathizable murderer, who chose to do the worst crime possible. But God, like how Angie had observed before, was not here. 

 

Yet He still latches on to her brain, and feeds her uncertainties. 

 

“I see,” Toujou remarks, yet she seems to gloss over Angie’s clarification. “Well, Yonaga-san, may I ask you how you have obtained these injuries? They seem quite unusual.”

 

“Angie doesn’t know,” she exclaims. She twirls a pinch of hair with her free hand, pretending to be absorbed in the way the white locks curl around her finger. “Angie just woke up in a classroom with the wound on her hand.” 

 

“Ah, you woke up in a classroom?” Toujou inquires, looking skeptically at the multitudes of splinters embedded into her knuckles. She gently presses on a splinter with her finger tip. Angie winces slightly, trying to conceal it as a cough. Toujou notices, evidenced by the slight quirk of her eyebrow.

 

“Yeah… did you not?” she queries, entranced by the way Toujou’s eyelashes flutter with utmost grace, the dips of her concave cheeks, and the pearlescent quality of her skin. It was as if she was sculpted from clay by God himself.

 

(It only reminds her of Yumeno and Angie feels sick to the stomach.)

 

“I am afraid not,” Toujou frowns. She sets Angie’s hand down on the tabletop, careful to not let the plastic surface disturb her wounds. “I woke up in the cafeteria with Gokuhara-kun and Harukawa-san.”

 

“Oh… Angie thought everyone woke up in a separate classroom. At least, that was where Angie woke up,” she chirps cheerfully, as Toujou scurries to the kitchen. Angie taps her fingers on the table in silence, waiting for Toujou to come back — even though she only slipped into the kitchen, right next to the 

 

Eventually she does, a white, plastic case, imprinted with ‘FIRST AID’, gripped delicately in her gloved hands. Eyebrow furrowed in determination, she unsecures the clips that hold the box closed.

 

Toujou grabs a roll of bandages, and carefully unravels it. When she grabs a pair of tweezers, her face shifts in realization; she pauses abruptly and sets it down.

 

“Yonaga-san, have you washed the wound?” she inquires, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

 

“Angie doesn't think so…” she responds, shuffling her legs.

 

“Ah, I see.” Toujou’s fingers scuttle around the plastic box, before producing out a small, paper package. “I must clean the cut, and take all the splinters out. Be warned; it may hurt.”

 

Angie almost snorts, before remembering the persona she was supposed to have. “No problem!” she reassures, when Toujou rips up the paper lining, taking out an alcohol wipe. “Thankfully, God has blessed Angie, and now nothing will hurt her!”

 

“That seems quite… how shall I put it… impossible?” Toujou asks absentmindedly, dabbing the wipe on the wound itself. Angie recoils and almost hisses in pain, but she regains her composure and lets out a bright, cheerful smile on her face.

 

“Yes! But, Kirumi, isn't it simply divine?” she chirps in response.

 

“How do you know my name?” Toujou suddenly asks, her hand poised in mid air, still holding the dirty wipe. “I do not recall ever giving it to you.”

 

Angie’s jaw slacks, and she nervously glances up at the sky. “God had told me, of course! And God has told Angie that-” she pauses, remembering the motive videos haven't been announced yet, “- that… this school is dangerous!” And perhaps, it would be even more dangerous if she were to call her bluff not, when Toujou was not even aware.

 

“Is that so?” 

 

“Yes, yes!” Angie affirms, wincing when Toujou whips out the pair of tweezers and rubbing alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so:
> 
> 1) angie dies bc i hc the necronomicon as a little shit that essentially kills the ritual person so that the revived person can survive. no way in hell does monokuma let them have a free for all without some consequences  
> 2) this might diverge into an angirumi shitfest but thats fine yknow


	6. end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry

hello everyone who reads this fic..... over a year ago. i apologize, i've lost interest in writing danganronpa. i'm on twitter @haseularity.


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